Cherish The Moment
by OrangeShipper
Summary: AU, August 1917. On a too-rare trip home from the trenches, Matthew tries to cherish the time he has with his family, as hard as it is to forget his life at the front. One-shot sequel to With All The Time In The World, though can be read alone. Strong T rating for implied smut and language.


A/N: _So to go with the slightly dramatic chapter of AETAT, and because let's face it that's fairly high on the angst-meter, I wanted to write something a little lighter to post alongside. Having written that in Cornwall while visiting a lot of old aristocratic estates, many of which were affected by the war, I'd been having a lot of S2 and soldier!Matthew feelings. Thinking along the light/fluff lines, I decided it'd be nice to revisit the AU of With All The Time In The World, a few years down the line with their baby a little more grown... and then I remembered the war. And it became considerably less 'light', and more bittersweet._

_Anyway, this is what my muse wanted to write, so I gave it free reign._

_If you haven't read With All The Time In The World, all you essentially need to know is that in that universe, Matthew and Mary were married and with their first child born in August 1913. (But there'd be no harm in reading it, if you haven't! :)) _

_Huge thanks to Pemonynen for her continual support and kindness and beta skills!_

_And... enjoy :)_

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**Cherish the Moment**

_August 1917_

So much was said between them, the actual words forgotten and unspoken, by touch and lips and breath.

_I've missed you, _his mouth on the smooth plane of her hip, _I wish you didn't have to go again, _her hands in his hair, _I'm so sorry, _his fingertips between her thighs, _please be safe, darling, _her tongue cherishing each new scar marking his flesh. The air was hot, skin smooth, muffling sobs of pleasure in the darkness with each intimate caress. Nails dug into skin, a shriek stifled into his shoulder as fists clenched rumpled sheets, quickened breaths and lips glistening from kisses that went on and on after he'd fallen by her side, still trembling. She curled against him, tucking her face against his neck and kissing his hot, dampened skin, letting his body shield his neatly folded uniform on the dresser at the foot of the bed from her view. She didn't want to see it, to be reminded that he was only home from the front on borrowed time.

His arms encompassed her, held her. _Home. Peace. _Only a dream to him, most of the time, but for now a precious reality. For a few more days, anyway.

At first they ignored the sound, dismissing it as simply a noise of the night, nothing to trouble them or intrude on their bittersweet bliss. Matthew wondered if perhaps he imagined it, his mind full of phantom sights and sounds he couldn't quite shake, the pervasive flicker of readiness and fear always with him. Less so now that he was here, like this, with Mary... He shivered, and then they heard it again, a sharp little insistent knock that came so suddenly it made them both jump.

"Matthew..."

"It's alright," he said softly, running his hand over her shoulder as he disentangled his limbs from hers and stood up. Again, the thud of a little fist on the bedroom door, and he knotted the belt of his dressing gown as he passed his wife's nightdress to her, hurrying to open it and see what was the matter.

On the other side stood Eleanor, a ribbon in her sleep-ruffled hair and her favoured doll in her hand, dried tear stains down her cheeks.

"Papa!" she cried as soon as she saw him, her face lighting up into a brilliant smile as he picked her up, swinging her around once before carrying her back to the bed, where he sat back against the pillows and settled her onto his lap. She nestled into his chest, as he pushed back locks of dark, wavy hair from her face, Mary's hand stroking her back to calm her.

"What's the matter, my little darling?" he whispered into her hair, holding her close.

"Thought..." she sniffed, "was a dream. But it wasn't, s'alright."

"What did you think was a dream?" he prompted her gently, hating to think that she'd been upset. Whatever it was, he would do all in his power to make it better, now that he was here... for as long as he would be. Every moment was precious.

"You was here." She wriggled up a little in his lap and patted both palms to his chest, her little face creasing into a smile. "Woke up and wasn't sure... but you are. Really here, Papa?"

"Really here, my darling girl. See?" he chuckled, tapping his finger to the end of her nose, and beside them Mary smiled. Nothing could make up for these moments, too few and far between, of seeing him with his children (now that there was little Reggie, too, who Matthew had only seen for the first time that afternoon). Eleanor missed him desperately, no matter how much Mary told her that Papa adored her, and missed her, and showed her his letters and photograph... It couldn't make up for him being here, and thank God that he was, for now.

Eleanor twisted in her father's arms, snuggling back against his chest so that she could see Mama, now, too, who reached across to take her hand. Their fingers twisted together, resting joined in Matthew's lap. All together.

"This time can you stay?" Eleanor whispered, her dark brown eyes staring into his blue, hoping desperately, not recognising when they filled with sudden sadness. Matthew's brow tightened, and he drew a trembling breath.

"I'm staying... till Thursday, darling. And then I have to go again, I'm sorry. If I could..."

"Why?" The brown eyes brimmed with tears, the hope that had blossomed so briefly crumbling again. She pressed her cheek to his warm chest, perhaps if she wanted it hard enough, if she wished and believed like in the stories Mama would read...

Matthew swallowed, his gaze distracted and unfocussed as he searched for an answer that would possibly make sense to his little girl. It was impossible. _Because it's my duty, because the damned Germans won't give up so I have to try and kill some more, poor bastards, because of the fucking war, because... _

"Because," Mary answered her softly, "Papa is doing such an important job in France, and so bravely, to keep us all safe. So we must spare him, for just a little while longer I hope. And our job is just as important, isn't it darling - to make sure our home is just right, and happy, for Papa to come back to, do you see?"

As Mary spoke, Matthew held their daughter tightly, clinging to her and the sound of Mary's voice. _Safe. Home. _That was what he fought for, he reminded himself sternly. _Just a little while longer. _God, he hoped so... and that he'd make it through, though he hardly dared to hope that. It was an impossible hope to cling to, the chance too fleeting to grasp. He shivered.

Eleanor nodded, slowly, and picked at the threads on Matthew's dressing gown. A little frown creased her brow, and she shifted, to look up at him properly.

"Can I go too... to help?"

Her expression was so earnest, so terribly serious, and both Matthew and Mary knew in an instant that she meant it, too innocent to understand how wrong... how very wrong, that would be.

_God, no. _No. Matthew's cheeks drained of colour, visible even in the darkness, every muscle tightening as images wracked unbidden through his mind. In the absence of light in their bedroom, his memories shone even more vividly, the things he'd seen and done and smelt and pain, wretchedness, assaulting him and there in the middle of it all his little girl, amid the dirt and stench of flesh and thudding explosions.

"Papa? I can-"

"_No_," he whispered fiercely, barely audible as his throat closed with horror. Mary watched him, saw how he began to tremble, his face lined with a sudden, chilling fear. Instinctively she reached for Eleanor, pulling her into her own lap and her heart breaking as Matthew scrambled up, out of bed and disappeared into his dressing room. The door swung back against the wall and Mary covered Eleanor's ears, smiling as she stroked her hair, trying to shield her from the sounds of Matthew's choking coughs as he retched.

But Eleanor looked tearfully up. "What's a matter with Papa? Did I-"

"No darling... No," Mary kissed the top of her head, and wiped a stray tear away with her thumb. "Papa will be alright. You know that he misses you very much when he's away, that's all, and sometimes it takes a little while to be used to being home again. Like when you stay with Grandmama and Grandpapa sometimes, and it's a little strange when you come home then, isn't it?"

"Think so... yes."

She sighed, and gave her daughter a trembling smile. Poor darling, had no idea of the effect her kind plea might have on Matthew - and of course, she shouldn't. Mary barely had any idea herself, and the thought was horrific enough, knowing what she did from the newspapers and things that Matthew had said. Eleanor had no idea, and that was the worst thing, how earnestly she'd meant it - so like Matthew, Mary thought, so thoughtful and willing to help. Even if - she smiled to herself - the efforts went awry sometimes, the consideration was always there, even so young. She was so much her Papa's daughter, and as each month went by without him Mary was so desperately grateful for it. Their children were a constant wonder and comfort to her... and even Reggie at only six months old bore Matthew's golden blonde hair, and his nose she was sure, and she only hoped that as he grew he would take Matthew's kind nature, too.

The door creaked softly, and Matthew reappeared. Still pale, shaken, but smiling now. He leaned over the bed, kissed Mary's cheek, _I'm sorry, darling, _and lifted Eleanor into his arms. She curled happily against him, pleased to see his smile, touching her little finger to his lips just to be sure, and he kissed her fingertip.

"I'm afraid I can't let you come and help me, my little darling," he explained softly. "Because how would Mama and Reggie manage without you, and Granny? I can look after myself you see, but I do need to be quite sure that you're all happy and well, here. So I need you to make sure of that, alright? It's a very important job too, and I know that you can help. Do you think?"

Brightened by the importance of the task and eager to do as her father wanted her to, Eleanor nodded eagerly and stretched up, pressing a wet kiss to his cheek, giggling when his light stubble scratched at her lips.

"I'll try, Papa."

"I know you will," he smiled. With a deep sigh, he reached an arm out to pick up his uniform cap and settled it onto Eleanor's head, where it was naturally far too big and fell down over her eyes. Her laugh delighted him and his smile broadened, trying to focus on the silly pleasure of the moment with his daughter in his arms rather than the images that had haunted him only moments before. "Besides," he chuckled, "I don't think the army has a uniform quite small enough for you, my angel!"

She giggled, shaking her head until the cap fell off entirely, and threw her arms around his neck. Mary watched them, smiling fondly and breathing easier now that Matthew had recovered himself. It was so difficult... to see him so tortured, imagining the things he faced and unable to help. Sometimes she was able to comfort him, sometimes her efforts made it worse... but the first day was always the hardest, when memories plagued him still so freshly, and the last when he would always try so bravely to hide his fear. But darkness could never stay with him for long when faced with his darling children, and she adored them all the more for that.

Glancing beside her at the clock on the bedside cabinet, she gasped and slipped out of bed, wrapping her arm around Matthew's waist as her other hand stroked back Eleanor's dark curls.

"It's past midnight," she said softly. "Time for bed, I think, my darling, or Reggie will wake and wonder where you are." She suspected it wouldn't be long before he roused anyway, but Eleanor was beginning to look so sleepy as she rubbed her eyes that Mary hoped she'd sleep through her little brother's cries, now.

"Can Papa come?" she mumbled, "And stay till I sleep?"

"Of course I can," he kissed her hair, and retrieved her doll from where she'd left it on the bed as he carried her out to the nursery, sharing a smile with his wife as he went. It wouldn't take long, he reckoned, and by the time he'd reached her little bed in fact she'd fallen asleep in his arms. Tenderly he laid her down, tucked the blankets around her and kissed her once more.

It was past midnight.

"Happy birthday, my little darling - for when you wake," he whispered. Four years old, and it would be only the second time he'd been there for it. The first was barely two short weeks after the announcement of war, and he'd spent it wracked with indecision between his duty and his desire to stay with his family. It hadn't been an easy decision to make, and however desperately sad he was for all the months and years he'd missed, he'd known there was no other choice he could make. It had only ever been a matter of time, and Mary had supported him wonderfully, more than he could ever have asked of her.

Still, he was here now, for her fourth birthday. And terribly glad of it, thinking of the gifts they had wrapped and waiting downstairs. And now there was Reggie, too... Matthew peered into his crib, utterly enraptured by his son, reaching down to stroke his rounded cheeks. The baby squirmed, and Matthew sighed, wondering at how impossibly lucky he was.

So damned lucky, after everything.

"Darling," he heard Mary's soft voice from the doorway behind him.

With one last look at his son, and his daughter sleeping peacefully, Matthew straightened and came quietly towards his wife, taking her hand as they walked together back to their bedroom. In the darkness as the door closed, Mary ran her hands up his chest, and down again, to rest on the belt of his dressing gown,

"Are you alright now?" she murmured. "I'm sorry... for what Eleanor said, she-"

"Don't," he hushed her, touching a finger to her lips. "She's the sweetest girl... She couldn't know. It's... alright, darling. I just..."

"Don't explain," she shook her head, leaning up to press her lips to his, calming and comforting. He had no need to explain anything to her, she didn't want him to try, to think of it again. "I'm just glad you're alright, and here."

He smiled, tremulously, against her lips.

"Thank you."

How did he deserve this? He couldn't begin to think. But for these few days, while he was home and with them... and as Mary's fingers began to work the belt of his dressing gown free, the woollen garment soon sliding to the floor... he was determined to cherish what he'd been blessed with, while he still could.

**Fin**

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A/N: _There we are, and thank you so much for reading :) I know it didn't perhaps definitively answer the question left from WATTITW, but it was important to me to show Matthew's relationship with their daughter, and how she's grown, regardless of 'that'. I'd love to know what you think, your thoughts are always so dearly appreciated! Thank you :)_


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